Another trophy in the Roger Federer cabinet, and another reason to want to slap him...There is something about his face that screams “I’m super.” It’s the self-satisfied smirk, the sneer of his eyes and nose, that perfect hair. It brings to mind a Red Dwarf word: “gimboid.”

I think "Red Dwarf" is one of those cheesy sci-fi shows the Brits do so well -- you know, if you can’t do something well, do it with a wink and a nod. Like "Doctor Who." And England’s national soccer team. So strike one against Mr. Kidd.

But then he had to go on and use Federer’s own words against him.

“There’s no secret behind it. I’m definitely a very talented player,” he quotes the Royal Rog as saying. “I always knew I had something special.” That was enough to kick Kidd into fifth gear:

His whole image is based on smugness. He has his own monogram, for heaven’s sake. And a cosmetics range. ... He rocks up to Wimbledon as if it were Milan Fashion Week. Remember last year with the gold-ended puffy white kit bag that looked like a giant luxury chocolate?

Let’s start with that post-match quote. I’ve defended Federer for his boastful statements over the years. He’s not really boasting, I point out. He’s saying it like it is. It’s a refreshing break from the mindless, nauseating faux humility so many winning athletes put on. Federer doesn’t do B.S. He’s like a tennis version of John McCain, circa 2000, winging down the highway on the Straight Talk Express. You don't like what I have to say? he offers. OK, eat this overhead and tell me how you like that.

The simple fact is, Federer can pull it off because he backs it up. Maybe Andy Roddick’s rages would be bearable if he won the Big Ones, but he doesn’t and so he’s just obnoxious. And maybe if Andy Murray won majors his mumbly honesty would be charming. Instead, as he learned after admitting that he viewed Dubai as a “training exercise,” nobody’s willing to cut him any slack. Life isn’t fair, kids. (McCain, of course, learned the same thing, forcing him in 2008 to switch from straight talk to hard-core -- and disastrous -- pandering.)

OK, now on to the clothes. Yes, that Wimbledon getup was a lot to take -- the kind of outfit a stuffed-animal fetishist would love. Still, I’ll step up and defend Federer here too. I mean, do you mock Lady Gaga for her ridiculous outfits, or do you stand back and gape in awe?

I say, spin that disco ball and get down to Funky Town with Miss Germanotta. But if you’re a mocker, then this blog can’t help you. I’m a talent snob and take the position that the great ones must be forgiven -- even celebrated -- for their eccentricities. Federer’s quirk is wearing flash clothes and telling anyone who asks that he has “something special.” Rafael Nadal’s quirk, by comparison, is picking at his backside on national TV.

To each his own, I say. Now we just need to get the Furvert and the Picker back on court at the same time again. For all the Roger haters out there, that’s probably still the best way to shut him up.